Feelings for a Fallen Queen
by AshleyBudrick
Summary: One-shot. He wrote repeatedly, the quill scratching the paper as he did so: "She was guilty, she was guilty, she was guilty." But why did he feel guilty himself? Henry/Anne


**Feelings for a Fallen Queen**

_May 19__th__, 1536_

_So it's done, Anne is dead. From what I told, it was quick, consisted of one stroke. Now I should smile, and look forward to next forthcoming marriage to Jane. Deny it not, I do, although something is not quite right with me. I am happy, to rejoice, this is like a new beginning! I will have a new Queen soon enough, and hopefully my prayers will be answered by God to give me the male heir that I've only been striving for for years. Jane is young, and beautiful – quite the opposite of Anne or even Katherine – her hair is light, not dark, eyes a light blue, not a brown or a green. I have a feeling that she will bring nothing but good to me._

_Don't get me wrong, with that I am pleased – but all day, despite my anger, I feel sick. Not ill, but sick. My stomach has been churning – and I haven't been able to sleep. When I tell this to my advisors, they suggest its my eagerness to be wed to Jane, to their suggestion I firmly reply with a nod and a smile._

_But its not so, I know it almost for certain._

_The anger that has welled up in me over the last while has been great. I yell, I tremble, I throw things about my privy chambers – anything I can get my hands on or so it seems. Whether it be a goblet, fruit, or perhaps a utensil, I feel condemned to throw it. This anger inside of me, is it anger? Or is it something else?_

_There are rumors already started about Anne – that she was innocent, that the acts of treason, adultery and incest pitted against her – despite the courts rule – were not the slightest bit true. And now, from what I hear, some are saying that I've killed an innocent woman._

_There is evidence, isn't there? The men of the court told me, showed me – the men she'd whored with were executed days ago, and hadn't some of them pleaded guilty after interrogation? Then what is this I am hearing, about Anne's final speech before she was executed – was one of nobility and mercy for her crimes was not asked to be given? She was guilty, she was guilty, she was guilty._

_Her losing the baby, it was acts of treason, I knew it. There was sorcery involved, she was a witch._

_Or was she?_

_I don't even know what to think anymore, I know Happiness is to come – but this feeling still plagues me deep down, it is like a disease? Maybe it would be wise to consult the doctor and have myself bled before my marriage to Jane, maybe it would ease this ridiculous feeling._

_All the stress is on me, because I am King, I am His Royal Majesty the King. Sometimes, I abhor the title – I wonder, has His Royal Majesty put innocent men, and his Queen to untimely deaths? Oh, I don't know what to feel, as I write these words, there is a tightness in my chest that was there once before when Cromwell and Brandon informed me of the news._

"_Anne is dead" they said, appearing quite excited themselves, pleased for me – fearing that if they didn't appear so, that perhaps their necks would be the next to be severed on the scaffold? I strike so much fear into people, but that's how it should be, that's how it has to be. I cannot expect to rule England with all kindness and smiles; civil war is always something that torments me._

_What is this!? Treason itself, a tear has fallen on this paper and blotched the ink. My own tear?_

_I can't be. This is not so – I am tempted to crumple this, I shouldn't be writing these words, my purpose for writing them is unknown, it's pointless I'm sure of it! Look what it's doing to me! I cannot be crying, I am not crying for Anne. I am not. She was a Witch, a Whore. Nothing else, she betrayed me, she lied to me, and she went behind my back and bedded other men. That's how I will remember Anne Boleyn. _

_My future with Jane will be great; we will rule together happily, she will give me an heir._

_Now this paper is going into the fire._

Henry got to his feet, shoving back the chair and gathering up the piece of paper in his hand, crumpling it as he pivoted and headed towards the fireplace, and, without a moment's hesitation - did as he said he would. He tossed the paper into the hungry flames, and watched as it was engulfed – curling and blackening as the orange tongues of the flames licked at it. He watched it emotionlessly, his blue eyes fixed on the object until it could no longer be read, no longer could be distinguishable that it had once been a piece of paper that contained a message that was as close as he could possibly come to being outward with his true feelings that he dare not say to anyone else. The still existent feelings for Anne Boleyn that he had honestly confessed, the fact that he now partially doubted himself for having ordered her death, were now burned, blackened to ash.

He felt a little lighter, and no longer did his chest feel as tight. And possibly, the feeling in his stomach was starting to subside. He made a personal vow that all feelings for the fallen queen were burned with the letter, and his heart was now free, which he would now give to Jane. It would be all hers, he would take her as his new wife and new Queen, and to the court, and to all of England, and once again things would go back to a bittersweet normality.

For now.

Henry knew that was impossible for this bliss to last for long. Soon, something or another of a troublesome matter would arise, and he would be pressured into making another decision – to decide someone's fate perhaps, whether they would go to the Tower, what punishment they would face, if it were not death, what form of torture? And if death, were they to be burned, hanged, beheaded, or maybe the grisly notion of hanged, drawn and quartered? Henry sighed, turning his back on the burning fireplace, and went back to his chair, where he sat down, leaning his head on his hand, his face scrunching into one of deep thought.

"Anne," the name ran through his mind, but he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Damn her! With his luck, she'd probably haunt him to his own death. Predictable, tantrum-prone Henry let out a yell, and hurled the stack of stationery at the wall – they scattered in the air, papers fluttering down all around him lazily.

Oh, how wonderful twas the life of a King.


End file.
